The Insanity Of Too Many Choices

insanityofchoices.jpgSometimes I open my e-mail to find wonderful things to write about. This one was pretty interesting because someone is e-mailing me wanting to know if she can 1) be my guest blogger, 2) tell me a story about her magic weekend which changed her life, and 3) to remind me I didn’t talk to everyone when I worked at Club X. She went on to remind me that she guesses she is one of the people who fell through the cracks because she wasn’t a stripper like the rest of them. But, she does know me, I do know her, and she knows that I write about stories told to me as a bartender. However, here is the catch, we never spoke in person much at all. She mentions that she has been trying to track down my e-mail address for sometime now since not only did I quite bartending at Club X but I also shut down that blog and moved all the stories over her sub-categorized under “Scorpion Sting’s Bartender Stories”. So, I can see how I might have been a little bit hard to find. Anyway, long story short, she has asked to tell her story and how it all came full circle a few weekends ago. I think it is a fantastic idea. I think it is a fantastic story. Now, be warned, the story is colorful, explicit, uses coarse adult language, and her story describes explicit adult oriented situations. If you are good with that then we should move forward to her story. Let me introduce Lynn, pictured, 23 years old, model, waitress, and really has a way with words.

“All through high school I was a model. There were some jobs that I didn’t really want to do but the payout was ten times what I was making modeling teen bathing suits. As time progressed I met different photographers who offered different amounts of money depending if I wanted to add pictures to their private collection. I learned the term ‘being used’ really fast because I was getting used quite a bit before I figured out I didn’t have to and I had choices to do otherwise. Probably the first bad choice I made was to let myself be photographed completely in the nude. You might be asking why. If you are asking why it was because I was 16 at the time, still in high school, still living at home with my parents and siblings, and if it had ever got out then it would have been the death of me, and I’m serious about that. The second bad choice was the night after that shoot that I broke into the photographer’s office, stole all the media storage devices I could find, destroyed all of his cameras, a wrecked the place beyond recognition. No, I didn’t get caught. Yes, I did retrieve the media device. Do I know if it was downloaded? No, still to this day I don’t know. We will get back to this photographer later.

Right after graduation I moved from my hometown of Raleigh North Carolina to Houston Texas to take a modeling gig that a model headhunter promised me would be available. I found a decent one room apartment that wasn’t too expensive that I thought I would be able to afford. I contacted the agency to find out appearance dates and I was told the project had been delayed by at least 8 months. All I could think was what in the fuck am I going to do for 8 months. How will I pay for this fucking apartment. How will I eat. I quickly searched around the local media to see if there was anything else hot going on that I could get my teeth into but all I could find is jobs that would require me to move to either the east coast or west coast. I can’t move because now I’m on the verge of being ass in the wind broke because of the stupid ass delays. I spent the next couple of days looking around local to my apartment for anything temporary I could do. Lucky me, I found a job as a waitress at IHOP. The pay was going to suck, the hours were going to suck, but if I’m lucky maybe someone will tip me on occasion. My presumptions were right, the money really sucked hind tit, I worked whatever shit shift the other bitches didn’t want to work, but I found that I can increase my tips by increasing the skin I ‘accidentally’ let show to the perves that would come in after church on Sunday.

There actually was a strange cycle of people who came in the doors of this IHOP. I got to see them all because of all the wackity fuck hours I worked 7 days a week. Not only was there a church right up the block but there was a strip bar as well. Come to find out, whether a person was talking to Jesus or spending their money on strippers, they all want pancakes at some point in the day or night. I would always hear the crowds from both places talking about going to the other. I guess everyone has needs. After 7 1/2 months of working at IHOP I figured it was time to call the agency since I hadn’t heard anything. I was not at all fucking happy with the response I got. Not only has the project been cancelled but they were able to place all of the models with new projects except for two, myself and some other skinny bitch. Well, wasn’t this just some special shit. Back to work at IHOP until I can get this bullshit straightened out. One night I overheard two guys talking about how the service at the strip bar was sucking lately because they needed more waitresses. The one guy, a real drunken troll, told me I should go work at the strip bar as a waitress or a stripper, this was his free advice for me, he said the next time I would have to sit on his lap and talk about the first thing that pops up. Interesting proposal, the lap sitting, but from where I stood it looked like it would be a waste of both of our times.

I did, however, decide to go to the strip bar and see what that was all about, after all, anything has to be better than being a waitress at IHOP. I went over to Club X after my shift ended at like midnight so I really didn’t know what kind of job hunting I would be doing but I figured if nothing else I could get fucked up since I haven’t been fucked up face down ass up drunk in quite a while. Fortunately for me I was not beaten down to pay the $25 cover to get in the door. I did explain that I was here looking for work and that might have had something to do with it. Is it strange to feel creeped out feeling like I was being stripped down and fucked mentally by the three completely nude women at the door? I have been eyeballed before but never with such intense passion. Since the manager of the waitstaff was not in I was directed to the next best thing, the head bartender. That is where you first entered my life. If I remember correctly, you told me “to go fuck myself elsewhere because I’m too damn busy to jack with you right now”. I didn’t reply, I just tucked my tail between my legs and asked for a tequila shot. This, I think, got your attention.

After a few hours you had time to talk to me, it was a talk with me walk with me type scenario. I had to keep up with you if we were to talk. After introducing myself to you and explaining why I was here it almost seemed as if you were just a little put off by my presence. You probably won’t ever admit to that will you? You ended up giving me your card telling me to return tomorrow before 5pm and we could talk about my opportunities then. I ended up leaving not knowing if I actually wanted to come back and work for such a dickhead. I slept on it, questioning myself if this is what I wanted to do or would it be best just to turn tail and go back to Raleigh. I was off work that day so I had some time to think about what I wanted to wear to my interview. What does a girl wear to be interviewed at a full nude strip bar. I mean, right, I saw what the other waitresses were wearing and I also saw how much money they were raking in. I just didn’t know if I could deal with the groping hands of drunk assholes all night long. Sure, it might be fun if I was drinking too, but I would be the sober one, I would be the one that had to put up or shut up, and that just might get me in some deep shit. But, I do like a challenge, and this motherfucker was going to challenge me on an entirely new level.

I walked in wearing my tightest jeans, by tight I mean that they rubbed me in all the right ways, so by the time I got there I was ready for anything you could throw my direction. I did wear sneakers because that is what I saw the others wearing. I wore a bikini top as a shirt figuring we could cut tight through the bullshit and get this ball rolling. Little did I know that the interview process was to throw me out on the floor to fend for myself, sink or swim. I think that the 3 hours I worked went without a glitch. I reported back to you as I was instructed, in fact I recall you paging the “f.n.g. waitress to report to the main bar”. I had to ask what f.n.g. meant, I was told it meant “fucking new girl”. Hell, why not just call me Lynn. You told me I could start tonight at $22 an hour plus tip out if I was interested. Fuck yeah I was interested! The last words from you is “the only thing I want to see from you right now is your ass walking away from me”. No, I didn’t take it as a flirt or a compliment, I knew what you meant.

I did this job for the next few years, never looking back, and never considering if I missed the boat with my modeling. One day, out of the blue not too terribly long ago, a man in the club approached me, handed me his card, and asked if I had ever modeled before. I recognized him but he had no fucking idea who I was. He chatted me up for quite a while, I kept declining, telling him he didn’t look like someone I wanted to get involved with, business or otherwise. But, this asshole just wouldn’t take a fuck no with the meaning I was putting behind it so I decided to have some fun with the prick. After talking with a few friends at the club, they decided to help me out because it sounded fun. I agreed to go back to the motel with this loser photographer to let him “check me out” to see if I got what it takes to be a model. It’s code for “I’m going to ass rape you, exploit you, film you without your knowledge, and make money off you while you try to figure out what was in your drink you cunt”. But, we had a different scenario planned, a way different evening is about to happen than what he thinks will play out. What a joke.

He met me at the door of the hotel room with this big cheesy smile on his face. He asked if we were ready and I told him I had to use the little girl’s room first. I opened the door to the room very quietly, letting in my friends who stood in the shadows for now. I walked out of the bathroom butt naked and his eyes lit up like little gold treasures. I eased over to the bed where he directed me to go. As soon as he turned his back to me my friends jumped him, put a black pillow case over his head, zip tied his hands behind his back, and proceeded to rip his pants off. One of my friends whispered loudly in his ear that he was going to make him squeal like the little pig he is. At this point I grabbed my clothes and left the room. I never saw my two friends again and come to think of it I never saw that shitbag of a photographer again either. Soon enough in the next coming weeks I did get another casting call which looked promising to me. I walked out of the doors of Club X one night and have never returned. The modeling gig is great, I will have to send you some postcards from where I am at in Milan when I get a chance. Thanks for reading my story. Sorry it took so long to get to you, you are a hard person to track down. Lynn.”

So, I thought this was a great story worth re-telling. I hope everyone enjoyed as well. Every one of us on this planet has a story to tell of some kind. Personally, I am just glad I have been trusted to do just that, tell everyone’s story as they were told to me. I have met some real interesting people in my life and travels which makes up for all the tools I have had to put up with. Until next time, remember to eat it every day.

The Story Of Me

thestoryofme

Before I get started in this particular post I want to explain what will be happening after this first paragraph. We (my 12 y/o son and I) are conducting an experiment based on words and illustrations from my son’s personal handwritten journal. He has been writing in his journal for around 4 years now, prior to that it was used to color, doodle, and paste things inside. The eventual evolution to writing came involuntarily to him as he was looking for a non-verbal way to express himself and what he was feeling. Those of y’all visiting for the first time will need to know that my son is autistic and bipolar. The degree of each is hard to say because doctors won’t ever say, they only say he is still in the stages of development and all we can really do is watch and learn every day. As an observation, there are many days he looks as though he is in shear pain and others that he seems as happy as one can expect a 12 y/o boy to be. The following is taken from his journal.

“December 29, 2013

My dad asked me today if I would like to play him a few games of chess. Because I had paused before responding he looked at me like I didn’t want to play. When will we play should have been his question. It seems like such a long time between times that we do get to play. I know he is busy being everybody’s dad. I understand that he is not just my dad but I wish my dad was just my dad more times. When we are together I am not reminded by my sisters that I need to share because now I don’t have to share. I wonder what it will be like when sissy moves away after graduating school. I heard my mom say she would still live here while she was going to school for a few more years. That fact does not make me happy at all. Time to go play chess as I’m being summoned to the kitchen table.

I would think that after 9 years of playing chess I could learn how to beat my dad like I beat my friends so quickly. It sucks. I have never won playing him. He tells me it is for my own good that he does not let me win because it will give me false hope because I didn’t earn the win. I respect his feelings but sometimes I can see the win but he always takes it away from me. Todays score, dad 8, me 0. To top it all off 6 of them were checkmates under 12 moves. He really must think I am stupid. Sometimes when I make a mistake he looks at me with a stare that really hurts my feelings, that look makes me angry, I want to cry. I can’t cry, mom says big boys don’t cry when they get hurt but it still hurts. My dad frustrates me because I can’t figure out which tactic he is using until it is too late. He has been playing chess forever. One day I want to win just once. I don’t want to win because then he might not want to play chess with me any more. He is so good and I will never be that good and I just want to be that good, good enough to win every time. We have played so many games, thousands of games, so many losses, never a stalemate because it never gets to be that close. Enough.

I’m laying in bed once again unable to sleep. I don’t dare risk getting caught playing on my phone, watching the tv, messing with my tablet, or anything else. I cannot go to sleep because I want to talk to my dad about questions I have but can never remember. I don’t like this time of night, I really hate this time of night, its too dark even with my flashlight but I cant turn on my light. My dad told me he knows what I do when I cant sleep, he says he knows I’m reading, drawing, or writing. He doesn’t know what I’m writing because he has never asked me to read any of my thoughts. I want to turn the light on because I’m not scared but I don’t know what those noises are or what to expect. I told my dad that I hear sounds and voices sometime at night and he told me it is the wind. Can the wind say my name. Can the wind have a voice I don’t recognize. I put my head covered in the pillow and the sounds get louder, they get closer, and they get clearer. He said we have an appointment tomorrow with the therapist, not for anything like I said but because it has been two weeks and it’s time once again.

I don’t want to go to therapy because we talk about what she wants to talk about but not what I want to talk about. I want to yell at her. I want to scream at her because I want to hate her but she is nice to me and she makes me smile. The last time we went to see her she asked what I dream about at night when I am asleep. I feel bad because I made up a story that I saw on tv because I don’t want anyone to know I don’t dream too often and when I do it is too scary to talk about to anybody. I do not want to talk her about my dreams. Why has my dad never asked me about what I dream about. I think he knows that I don’t like my dreams because I heard him tell my mom once that he doesn’t dream either. I wonder what his dreams are about and if he gets scared. Does my dad even get scared I wonder. She will ask me again about sleeping and dreaming. I want to tell her other things. I want to ask her questions for once.

I only have one question for her. Why are the sounds in my head so loud so often and so quiet so little.”

I have read that passage a few times before I transcribed it here. It brings tears to my eyes each time. Much of this I knew already but there are some things that are new to me. I asked if he was sure he wanted to make this the test post and he told me it was the one. I’m really at a loss for words. I think it might be time to be shopping for a new therapist tho.

2012- The World Did Not End or Shift

Originally Posted 27 Febuary 2013

Guest Blogger: Neil Killion
Blog/website: http://lifecycles-by-neil-killion.blogspot.com
(Original Posted: Saturday, December 29, 2012)

2012-The World Did Not End Or Shift-Wake Up!

There is a scene in the first James Bond movie -Dr.No- where a character called Professor R. J. Dent opens Bond’s hotel door and pumps six bullets into what he believes is Bond’s sleeping body. Little did he know that Bond is waiting behind the door and with a perfect turn of sardonic phrase he says:- “That’s a Smith and Wesson and you’ve had your six!” Then the Professor is shot and killed. Well that’s what I want to do in this post about the hoo-ha surrounding the Mayan Hoax and the New Age belief in a positive global shift instead. There was never any proof, or even one shred of credible evidence, in either of them. Yet I see that an estimated 1 in 10 Americans were worried or concerned about the coming ‘end of the world’ and a smaller number celebrating a coming “new era”.

Let’s give them their six ill-timed shots and then shoot them down one-by-one shall we? After all, 2012 was the year of the big hoax. Bullet No.1 :- Astrology. This ancient culprit, with plenty of adherents, has never passed any attempt to prove ‘better than chance’ outcomes with personal readings, and a litany of disasters, when it comes to predictions. Don’t take my word for it. Check it out for yourselves on Google. It’s behind the Mayan calendar, Nostradamus, who had everyone scared in the 80’s, and the so-called ‘dawning of the Age of Aquarius’, with even less backing than its other flimsy concepts. Every time you see this in the future just shoot it down.

Bullet No.2 :- Numerology. This similarly doesn’t add up. Numbers aren’t, in and of themselves, magical. Personal readings can be quite ego-enhancing, but they have no foundation of proof. But once again don’t believe me, Just Google “numerology, sceptics view” or the Wiki article on it. It’s behind all these Bible Codes, hundreds of years worth of ‘we know the actual date the world ends’ etc. I actually Googled the “World will end November, 2012” and saw an article by Harold Camping (radical preacher and prophet of doom merchant) saying that the world had already ended in October, 2012. Yeah right. I was told the world would end in Nov. because of some numerology-based idea, and then that it would end on Dec. 23rd (no, not the 21st, that was the Mayans). This one was based on the ‘sacred nature of the number 19’. Give me a break! It’s endless and it’s insidious. Put a bullet in it. Shoot it down. Don’t be scared of your own shadow.

Bullet No. 3 :- Astronomical calamities. Collision with comets/hidden planets/reversal of the polar axes/solar storms etc. etc. Yes 2012 seemed to have had it all. Now I grant you, there is always some remote chance of these occurring. No-one knows when. NASA will tell you if there’s anything passing close to the earth and you should know, that although NASA considers polar reversals to be relatively commonplace over a 3 billion year period, that they happen currently about every 300,000 years and take hundreds and sometimes thousands of years to complete. So, was 2012 going to be to be the year of the big axis shift? I think not. There was also a recorded solar storm event in the 1850’s, that caused interruption of worldwide telegraphy services, and 2012 was the end of an 11 year solar cycle, but the leading astrophysicist in this area, says such events are expected about every 500 years or so. So, no big solar storm in 2012 either. Are you getting the picture. Put a bullet in this one too.

Bullet No. 4 :- Alien Invasion. Now I grant you there have been many unexplained sightings, including one that I saw personally over 30 years ago, but so far we don’t know if they’re unmanned (if that’s the right word for it) probes or what. Are aliens living with us? Do they want to invade and destroy us? Here’s where it starts to get silly. I think a response given to a Chinese mass sighting in 2012 about sums it up :- “there’s nothing to tell us that there isn’t extraterrestrial life, but so far there’s nothing to tell us there is.” The aliens haven’t made themselves known, despite apparently being sighted for thousands of years. Will they come and destroy us in 2012? No more so than they might have done in all of recorded history. No, fascinating as it is, give it a bullet.

Bullet No. 5 :- Natural disasters. Mega-tsunamis/massive volcanic eruptions/violent storms/earthquakes etc. Of course these can and will periodically happen. We can do little to stop them. But they will not follow a predictable timetable. I’m afraid I simply can’t lose sleep over them. Yes, there may be a landslide in the Canary Islands, that sends a mega-tsunami to the entire East Coast USA, but there’s way more chance that it might not happen in my lifetime. That’s just how it is. If someone tries to tell you they know when, don’t believe them. Put a bullet in their ideas as well.

Bullet No. 6 :- World will become a better place in 2012/new astrological age/cosmic shift/higher vibrations etc. etc. Look, admittedly this is designed to be a force for good, so it may seem a bit unfair to shoot it down. But honestly, do you think a relatively small group of people, dancing till dawn around the campfire at the Mayan temple, or anywhere else, is suddenly going to make everyone a better person and the world a better place? Will it solve our economic woes, our wars, our crimes, our poverty etc., overnight? It may make for an enjoyable night for the participants, but in the morning, we’ll all have to get on with adapting to our current circumstances, as best we can. No, unfortunately put your final bullet in this one too. However, make it a round-edged dum-dum bullet.

Wait a minute I can hear some voices saying :- “Isn’t your ‘Life Cycles’ theory part of all this? Isn’t this just numerology, astrology, or some other pseudo-scientific New Age twaddle?” The answer is a resounding “NO!” I only study certain years in people’s lives, to see if they correlate with important change and that’s it. I only have the biographical facts to work with. I don’t predict the future in ordinary terms. I don’t know why this happens and I know it isn’t exactly science, because “correlation does not equal causality” (although I don’t deal in causality) and it contains some subjective elements. However it is startlingly better than mere chance occurrence. Billions of times actually, if you only look at my many case histories. It’s also brand new. There is nothing new about the so-called New Age. It’s as old as the hills. I’m the newest voice you’ll ever hear and I intend to create a peaceful and modest revolution in how you think of your life. Is it important? Oh yes, it’s important alright, but I accept that it’ll take some time before people catch up to me. Till next month :- “may the cycles always bring you good fortune”.

Our Dog Is Brilliant Enough To Act Dumb

Originally Posted 05 Febuary 2013
Guest Blogger: 

I could complain for this entire post about my still not trained chocolate lab who is brilliant enough to act stupid when it suits him. However I will limit myself to two antidotes and then I will astound you with his gardening skills.

We adopted Duke (Marmaduke) when he was nine months and he stubbornly clung to several bad habits that were just too much fun for him but a pain in the neck for us. For example, he constantly leaps up literally in my face, to engage in some sort of mock fighting. Since he is only 14 pounds lighter than I am but all muscle, he is the definite victor in these contests of strength. After one frustrating encounter, I harshly commanded Duke to stay “down” and to “sit” about ten times. I finally threw up my hands and said,

“Oh, why don’t you just go get a toy instead of attacking me?”

Duke suddenly stopped in his tracks, his ears perked up , he looked at me with wide opened eyes and then quickly put his nose to the ground and began to search for his hidden toys! Duke shocked all of us, especially since it now works every time.

Another secret weapon that halts mock fighting is an invitation .

“Come on up and cuddle instead of attacking me.”

These words instantly transform Duke into a passive lap dog. After a couple of hours, of sharing a crowded couch with a monstrosity of a dog,, one of my daughters pushed Duke off the Chesterfield when he refused to move. The intelligent dog’s reprisal? He purposefully stuck his tongue in her coffee while maintaining eye to eye contact, slurped and then turned right around and stalked out of the room.

Way too smart for a beast!

No wonder People train labs to be finely tuned, obedient guide dogs.

For all his faults, Duke is an excellent gardener. I know that this seems to be an absurd statement but trust me. I speak the truth!

This last fall I was pulling out old grape vines around our property. Duke pushed me out of the way as I struggled to dig up roots and he proceeded to dig furiously with his front paws. Very impressive.

As I pruned over head branches, often I only managed to cut half way through the branch. I’d tug and pull but it was Duke’s who deserves all the credit for finishing the pruning. He’d leap incredibly high, grasp the errant branch with his teeth and then hang his whole ninety pounds on the branch. that dog saved me hours of work.

Now if we could only become smarter than our dog, all would be well.

A Day In The Life Of John

Originally Posted 05 Febuary 2013
Guest Blogger: John “Agit8r” Fisher
A Day In The Life Of John…………..
I once had a job that was literally shitty. I worked for a relatively small cleaning contractor that cleaned the courthouse complex, and county jail in Spokane. During that time, they took over the decontamination of jail cells that had previously been done by a well-known service that uses bright green vehicles. Though the work was somewhat sporadic, it did pay pretty well for semi-skilled labor, enough so that I continued to do it on the side as an emergency-call person after I stopped working for the company in other capacities.
The first cell-clean we performed involved an inmate who had stuffed a few days worth of meals down the toilet, shit in it numerous times, and then flushed it, thereby flooding his cell with fecal matter, rotten bologna and fermenting oranges. We were somewhat unprepared logistically, probably due to the emphasis on needing to kill MRSA (a factor in the account being up for bid in the first place, apparently) and only secondary concern given to the prospect of large-scale shit removal.
As we doused the cell, floor to ceiling, with a disinfectant (mixed to the concentration that the packaging label directed for disinfecting cadavers) from the doorway, my co-worker (a burly Ukrainian immigrant named Eduard) said to me “in Ukraine we call this monkey room.” Then we opened our bio-hazard kits, which contained rubber gloves, a doctors mask and a disposable full-body suit with a hood. Most importantly (it would turn out) it came packaged in a lunch-box-sized clam-shell case. After suiting up, putting on goggles and rubber boots, we waded through the cell, while applying more disinfectant. Then we wiped down the walls, the sink, and the bed, while we waited for the layer covering the floor to soften up.
Then we got to the toilet. I looked over at my supervisor, who was observing the process along with our project manager… from several feet away… behind an unenclosed curtain wall… while holding their noses. “How do we get this stuff out of here?” I asked as I began to understand what the bright green, unfamiliar looking piece of machinery that was sitting in the property room, waiting for the previous company to come and retrieve it, must have been used for.
“Did you try the dustpan?” came the reply.
“It won’t fit past the seat. It’s all one piece of metal.”
“We’ll have to get you guys a scoop for next time.”
They would later provide a plastic soup ladle, which ended up being pretty useless anyway. But in the meantime, I would have to try to put my problem solving ability to work. I went to the door, pausing to kick whatever I could off of my boots before exiting the cell. I scanned the cart, while my coworker began shoveling the refuse from the floor into a red plastic bag, by using the dustpan.
As I looked over the cart, I noticed the plastic clam-shell case from our bio-hazard kit. I opened it up, and then broke it in two at the hinges. Then with half of it, I began scooping the composting sludge out of the toilet, until it could be flushed. After seemingly forever, we finally got the rest of the crap off of the floor with the dustpan, the half clam-shell case, and finally, a ridiculous number of paper towels (they would later get a wet-vac), we got the stainless steel fixtures nice a clean for the next “guest,” we painstakingly picked the few bits of stuff out of the painted cinder-block wall’s pores, and at last wiped up the foot tracks from my trip to the cart, and spritzed everything with a final coat of cadaver-cleaner.
Though some of the hiccups got cleared up before future visits, there were things that would confound us still. There was the time that one of the showers had a sizable amount of clotting blood covering about half the floor, which really put my resolve not to vomit to the test. There was second floor, where the wet-vac couldn’t be plugged in, because none of the plug-ins worked (which really would have been handy the time that there was a massive quantity of what appeared to be vomited-up semen in a cell there.
There was the lack of a pressure washer, which never got resolved, but was occasionally necessary for instances like the time when one inmate wrote “FUCK PIGS” on one wall, and on the wall above his bed wrote “I LOVE YOU TAMMY” …in poop. Or when a guy filled in his air vent holes with toothpaste. Or when another guy used toothpaste to glue pictures of scantily clad women cut out of magazines to the bottom of his shelf-desk. Or when a fellow fashioned himself a curtain for his door-window …with poop. And then there was one guy who was both a painter and a sculptor… but I won’t bore the reader with that.
I’d like to end on a lighter note, from this one time when Eduard and I had to clean a cell in the Intake area, on a rather chaotic night. The place was crowded and we had to wait while they got the prisoner out of the holding-cell that we had to clean, as guards and prisoners, on their way to being booked, moved back and forth around us, and some prisoners were yelling drunkenly from their holding cells, and others were talking loudly to one another to be heard over the yelling. And I was pretty jived up because after we got the call, I had kinda chugged my large coffee (because it would be cold after we got done, of course). Then, one of the prisoners began banging …some part(?) of his/her body into a metal part of his/her cell, and kept this up until it became something of a rhythmic clanging. And probably partly because of my coffee buzz, and partly because it was generally good to show the prisoners’ that their craziness couldn’t phase you, I began moving my shoulders and hips side to side in a dancing motion to rhythm of the clanging, to which Eduard shook his head at me, as he said in his thick accent “Jamming out…”

The Mail Order Bride

Originally Posted 04 Febuary 2013

Guest Author: R. U. Trembling

Blog/Website: Withheld by request

The Mail Order Bride

Two years ago I was searching for a companion. My work schedule had me driving the delivery truck 6 nights a week and leaves little time for courtship. A co-worker of mine recommended I look into different on-line dating sites. After much debate I did sign up but could never get anything to work out in a way that was beneficial to both parties. I began to think there was no hope for myself or anyone like me. The days turned into months and all began to blur. One night while I ate breakfast at one of those all night greasy diners I noticed someone left behind a travel magazine. Maybe that’s what I need, maybe that is where I will make a meaningful connection, I needed a vacation. A vacation is either going to get my mind off the fact that I am an unmarried 40 year old make who wanders thru life with hopeless desire. I began flipping thru this well used magazine, searching for my destination. I have never been to Hawaii or Fiji, that might be nice. Only one hold back, I have never been attracted to really exotic island women. So, I keep looking, I keep searching, and I keep finding reasons not to go somewhere, never once am I finding myself actually liking everything about a place in particular.

 

Then it dawned on me, maybe I need to go on a single’s getaway and do my companion shopping that way. Do people find everlasting love on a girlfriend swapping vacation or is it all just for the sex. Sex would be nice, sex would be real nice. I really need to stop going to the 25¢ theaters since they all know me by first name. I get tired of waiting in line anyway. I could have bought a nice car by now I think. Who am I kidding, there isn’t love out there for someone like me. Its hopeless. Maybe I am gay, my mother thought so before she passed, maybe its true, a mother is the only one who knows the real you. In the very back of the magazine I found the answer. How come I never thought of this before. But wait, it can’t be as easy as the advertisement states, nothing is that easy. I tore out the advertisement from the magazine, I didn’t see the harm in it, I didn’t need the whole magazine, I just needed the advertisement. I got back into my truck and used a piece of my gum to stick the torn advertisement to my dashboard, I don’t want to lose my answer to all my problems. As I drove around I couldn’t wait to get home and make a phone call. The night just dragged on, why wont it be over already, hurry. Finally, time to go home, time to make a very special call.

 

I sat in front of my phone, reading the advertisement as I sipped my coffee. What was the catch. Was there a catch. Maybe I am missing something, where is the small print. It must be legit, there is no small print. I was very nervy, like a schoolyard boy who has the girl of his dreams punch him in the arm, like love at first site. Any boy will tell you this is how it happens and I was getting those butterflies all over again. But why.why at my age would I be nervous calling a total stranger to arrange a meeting. Because its more than a meeting, it is more than a chance encounter, it could be the last time I ever had to wonder if their was a girl out their for me. Here I go, slowly dialing the number to make sure I do it right, its ringing. I hope it isn’t an automated system, those aren’t very personal. At last, the voice of an angel is heard, she immediately fills my entire body with peace and happiness. The entire time she is talking I can only imagine what she must look like and if, as we go through the menu, everyone there is the exact same way. Why isn’t everybody calling this number, why do people do this the hard way. Well, not me, never again, this is it, very soon I will be very happy, the angel voice promises I will not be disappointed with love any longer, she promises.

 

In just a few short weeks I am just getting home, got my shoes kicked off, I am ready for a well deserved shower. I hear a knock at the the door. Who can it be so early in the morning, this better be good, I am very tired. I peek out the window to see a young man in his 20s standing outside the door, dressed very nice, dark sunglasses, nice tan, what could he possibly want this early in the morning. I open the door, we introduce ourselves, he follows me in to the kitchen where we discuss concerns and questions before I sign a release on his clipboard. I am very anxious for him to leave and finally I shut the door behind him. It is time. It is the the moment I have been waiting for, she is finally here, finally she is waiting for me in just the other room. I peek around the corner and I am not dreaming, she awaits me in the kitchen. She is beautiful, flawless, and exactly what I have been needing. Our first meeting was very quiet, she is very shy and not very outspoken. But I know the language barrier will not be a problem and will not ever be an issue. I helped her to a seat on the couch where we just looked into each others eyes. She has piercing eyes, honest eyes.

 

I am impressed how well we are getting along. We may not ever go out but she is a sight for sore eyes in the morning. So far she has fulfilled every dream and desire I could have about someone. She is the best. It was fate I saw that advertisement for information on how to get an exotic mail order bride. Understand that I know we could never really be married, but she is my secret bride, she is the perfect woman for me. I never knew that my silicone bride would bring me happiness to this extent. She has been the perfect companion for me and I for her. I am thinking, however, that when her 24 month warranty expires about letting her retire. I wonder quietly, wondering what my second mail order bride will look like.